


Don’t Know the Paths We Roam

by Kittycattycat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Medication, Mental Health Issues, POV Second Person, Possible Character Death, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittycattycat/pseuds/Kittycattycat
Summary: Your head is empty. You can’t bring yourself to actually care.
Relationships: None
Kudos: 4





	Don’t Know the Paths We Roam

There is a pulsing haze across your vision and your movements, and you know it's all in your head but it's killing you. It's like everything is a blur but also crystal clear, both at the same time. It's killing you. It's killing you. You're going to die.

Your head is empty. No racing thoughts swirl through your mind like a torrent of clouds during a thunderstorm at the ready to send down lighting from the sky, a spiteful god far above it all. It's numb, you feel numb. But that seems strange to say, because even though “numb” means you feel nothing, just saying that you feel numb makes it wrong. You don't feel numb. You are numb. Though logically you know you weren’t, but your heart tells you that you were always this numb, this unfeeling.

You're laying on your pathetic excuse for a sofa, on your back, and it's making the crick in your neck that never leaves even worse but you can't bring yourself to actually care. It doesn't matter now, even when your neck throbs and aches and it makes you want to slice an infinitely sharp knife through your neck muscles to get the tension in them to release. Your lights are off and they will stay that way. Light sensitivity is your enemy. But then again, everything seems to be your enemy these days. Everything you used to enjoy now so tedious and trivial, everything that you used to see as a minor inconvenience now something that haunts your waking hours with complete and utter dismality. 

When you inhale, it's shaky. You know it's your throat getting caught but it feels like your lungs themselves are trying to stop your breathing. You can understand why, you'd do the same.

You want so desperately for your eyes to close, but they do not heed your orders. They stare, open wide at the ceiling while consciously you look at nothing. As this thought hits you, you find yourself unable to stop looking and now your eyes are functioning again. Seemingly without your consent, your vision drifts over to the cabinet in your kitchen. You know what's in that cabinet, know the labels of the bottles and the numbers on the pills as well as you know your own skin.

You hardly even notice when you rise onto your legs, when you stand and walk with legs like lead and arms stiff as boards at your sides. It doesn't even register that you probably should convince yourself out of this. The idea of giving in is not only present, it is all-consuming, coursing through your veins like boiling poison.


End file.
